


Blind Spot

by LectorEl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Child Abuse, Established Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim knows his parents weren't the best. He just doesn't understand why it matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Spot

“You should have told me,” Batman said. Tim gave him a look, but stepped aside from the window to let the man into his room.

“No,” Tim said. “I shouldn’t have.” Batman removed his gauntlet and ran the pads of his fingers over the livid bruising covering Tim’s bare torso. Tim rolled his eyes, but obediently held himself still under the examination.

“I got worse than this on patrol. Regularly, even,” Tim reminded, when the black scowl on his (former? Ex?) mentor’s face grew too prominent to ignore.

“You fought back on patrol,” Batman countered. He stroked Tim’s bruised cheek, tracing the yellowing edge from just below his cheek bone down to the line of his jaw.

“It’s not important,” Tim told Batman, pulling the man’s hand away from his face. “This is the worst it’s been in a long time. Don’t do something stupid.”

Batman growled. “Are you even listening to yourself, Tim?”

Tim crossed his arms and turned away. “I am aware of what I sound like, yes. That doesn’t have bearing on this conversation.”

“It does, Tim. You can’t just brush this off.” Batman caught his arm, forced him to turn back. Tim pressed his lips together in a flat line.

“This is the first time he’s hit me since _Haiti_ ,” Tim stressed. “And I highly doubt he’ll do it again in the next two years, so you can drop the subject.” Batman’s still looking at Tim like he’s some sort of broken, fragile thing. Tim scowled and used a nerve strike Batman’s shoulder.

“That,” he said, gesturing at Batman’s face, “would be why I didn’t tell you. I’m not broken and I don’t need anybody fussing over me.”

The floorboards outside Tim’s room creaked.

“This isn’t over,” Batman warned, and swung out the window. Tim sighed and shut it after him. Of course it wasn’t. That would be too easy.

***

On his way back to his room, Tim passes Dana in the hall and greets her quietly. She’s tense, lately. Tim and his dad had spent the past two years playing happy family for her, each pretending that Jack had always been a well-meaning if absent minded father.

She didn’t see her husband hit Tim, or the shove which made him stumble against the sharp corner of the TV stand. But the tension of Tim’s resigned wariness, and Jack’s defensive anger are too well entrenched, too obviously familiar to them both for Dana to miss that something beyond the usual issues is playing out.

Tim likes Dana. She’s not his mother. She seems to actually enjoy his company. It’s nice, sometimes, to spend time with her. But Tim has survived too long in his parents’ house to trust her. So when she asks about it, he smiles, and says nothing.

Tim trusts very few people. He’s aware just how screwed up he is, and isn’t. He’s not- he doesn’t think he deserves it. His parents were never around enough for him to be convinced they had a right or a reason for their treatment. It’s just easier to tolerate it. Child services in Gotham made child traffickers overseas look wise and benevolent.

The math was simple. His parents- before Mother had died- had been home two to three months out of the year, usually broken up into one or two week stays. No more than five instances of negative interaction per stay, and only one or two acts of violence.

In total, no more than thirty-five moments of emotional abuse, and twelve physically abusive ones per year. In exchange for tolerating this, he’d had access to his parents’ money, the freedom to pursue his hobbies, and the other nine months of the year all to himself.

He’s never expected anything from his parents. Not even kindness. The damage they’d done to him- in terms of paranoia, distrust, and rigid enforcement of his physical boundaries- is no more than could be explained by their frequent absences and the high rate of turnover among his caretakers. Which is why he had gotten away with _concealing_ it for this long.

 _Really Bruce?_ Tim thought, fingers tapping at his desk, _You were perfectly okay with me living with a man you thought neglected me and has inadvertently aggravated my RAD symptoms, but learning he occasionally hits me is crossing the line? Your priorities are deeply…interesting._

Tim gives his essay for English another look over, and debates adding another page on Victor Frankenstein’s elitism and how that related to Mary Shelley. It’s only two pages over the five page requirement, and he’s so incredibly _bored_. If the patterns established before Haiti still hold, he’s got at least another day before leaving the house won’t aggravate his dad into further violence.

So Mary Shelley, classism, and how that’s reflective of the early feminist movement as a whole it is. Adding another three pages should take the rest of the morning.

***

“...I’m sure you understand, Tim is very important to all of us. He’s like _family_ ,” Tim hears as he comes down the stairs. Dick’s sitting in the living room with his dad, speaking in his Nightwing voice, smiling in a way that’s making Dad squirm. Tim grins at him over the railing. It’s sweet, how over-protective Dick can be.

“Hi, Dick,” Tim greets, walking the last couple feet to his brother. Dick promptly pulls him down into his lap, hugging him like it’s been much longer than just a week since they last saw each other. Tim huffs and squirms until he’s in a marginally comfortable position. Dick gets a little ridiculous when Tim’s hurt.

“Hey, little brother,” Dick says, holding him carefully, like he might break. Tim rolls his eyes. It’s not _that_ bad. “Missed you. Your dad and I were just talking about you moving in with me for awhile.”

Tim snorts. Threatening his dad into letting Dick keep him more like. “Nice of you to consult me about that,” he says dryly. Dick ruffles his hair.

“Didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Dick says. He turns to Tim’s father and asks, “But we’ve come to an agreement, haven’t we?”

Dad clears his throat, not looking at Tim. “Just for a few months, for now. Would you like that, Tim?”

“Sure, Dad,” Tim says.

Dick squeezes him tightly, and laughs in glee. “Come on, Timbo, let’s get your stuff.” Tim is highly tempted to jab him in a tender place. Dick is a better actor than this. Or he _should_ be, anyway. Tim is going to have to hint to Alfred that Dick needs a refresher course.

“Laying it on a little thick, weren’t you?” Tim asks rhetorically once they’re in his room. Dick gives him a quizzical look.

Tim shakes his head. “Whatever. You really shouldn’t be taking a risk like this. Dad gets impulsive when he’s angry. He might call the media just to spite you.” Dick hugs him again, tighter and more desperate than before.

“He _hit_ you.” Dick sounds bewildered and angry and terrified all at once, and Tim doesn’t understand. He tilts his head back to look at Dick’s face, trying to get a read on him.

“He hit me,” Tim confirms, half shrugging. Dick makes a low, hurt noise.

“Tell me you at least understand why that’s not okay.” Dick clutches him close and kisses him on the forehead. “Please, little brother.”

“Dick…” Tim sighs. “Of course I do. I don’t see why you’re taking such a stupid risk over it. It’s only a few bruises.”

Dick makes that hurting noise again. “It…just trust me, please. It’s not just the bruises.” Tim looks at Dick, trying to understand. He nods, slowly.

“For now,” Tim agrees.


End file.
